Kindling
by PrincessofDragonstone
Summary: Bits and pieces of Viserys and Daenerys's life before Game of Thrones. In times during and after the house with the red door. Back before the fire was lit, when it was only kindling...
1. A Dying Fire

"Why are you crying?"

He stormed through the door, violet eyes flashing. They scanned the room quickly before finding her, saw her recoil at the tone of his voice. _Good._ She should be afraid.

"I-I burned myself. On the pot."

He glanced at the fireplace, where the heavy metal pot hung, its questionable contents steaming. _Stupid girl_, he thought, dragging his attention back over to her. Legs tucked underneath her, cradling her hand, her dirty cheeks streaked with tears; she looked vulnerable. Fragile. Like a five year old should.

He hated it.

"Of course it burned you," he spat. "It's hot. Learn to cook without touching it."

Old words echoed in his head, spoken in a voice he knew but couldn't place. _Fire cannot kill a dragon._ She needed toughening if she were to rule with him.

She said nothing, only bit the trembling lower lip and cast her eyes down. Violet eyes, like his. Everything like his. They were a pair, a matching set. One day they would have children just the same, with silver hair and pure blood, tempers like fire. Children of dragons.

That train of thought made him hesitate, softening towards the girl who shared his blood, the weeping little girl who would one day be his wife. He strode forward, kneeling down by her side, tucking her long, silver hair behind one ear as to better see her face. A finger beneath her chin tilted it up, wide eyes meeting his, knowing better than to look away.

"I'll help you this once. And you'll learn. And if you burn yourself again, you'd be wise to hold back those tears, or you'll soon be crying over more than a burn."

As he watched, emotions passed over her face, little more than shadows flickering in her eyes; fear, disappointment, determination. The latter is what they settled on as she got to her feet unassisted. _Never anger_, he mused, following her to the hearth. He had yet to see that particular spark light in her eyes, though he was not foolish enough to believe it would never happen. He never expected her to understand what he'd done for her, least of all the harsh realities needed to prepare her to rule. But to resent him for it… no. He would not allow it.

True to his word, he helped with the meal, a meager soup that was more water than anything, though he'd managed to acquire a few potatoes for it. Once their bellies were full as they were like to be, he sent her to bed, choosing instead to remain by the fire. It was dying now, and he had no more wood to feed it. _I never have enough, not of anything. One day that will all change._ He watched until only embers remained, glowing sullenly, his mood growing darker along with the room. Then even the embers began to fade…

"Viserys?"

Her voice jolted him awake. It was cold now, the fire having died while he slept. Stiff, disoriented, he got up from the chair, instinctively knowing what she wanted. He hesitated, then padded over to the sole bed in their room, pulling back the covers and climbing in. Tentatively, she moved closer; he allowed it tonight, grateful for the shared warmth. Minutes passed, and even in the dark he could feel she was awake, could almost see those luminous eyes staring at him in the dark. Looking to him for comfort. For protection. For everything. Needing him.

"Go to sleep, Daenerys."

It annoyed him. It reminded him of the one thing that he would not, or could not admit.

That he needed her too.


	2. A Crown For Coin

She remembers the day he sold their mother's crown.

It was a clear memory, vivid and bright against a haze of gray, flat years. Daenerys was six -they still lived in the house with the red door, though they wouldn't for much longer. Viserys typically spent his days away, roaming the streets, calling upon the merchants and shopkeepers to task him with something, anything he might do for food or coin. They ate sporadically in those days, feasting on an entire loaf of fresh bread with cheese one day, living on crusts and tepid water the next. If Viserys had ever acted a child, as he truly still was, she couldn't remember it; the bleak world they lived in had killed that thoroughly enough.

That day was the third in a row they'd not eaten. It was silent in the room as Viserys dressed, pulling on his clothes with sharp, irritated tugs. A sense of foreboding lay thickly around the room, leaving her anxious, though she couldn't quite place why. She stared into the cup of water that served to break her fast, knowing better than to stare at him. From the side of her vision, she saw him walk to the corner of their room, leaping up to her feet.

"What are you doing?"

Her heart beat forcefully within her chest; this was the bad feeling. This was the cause.

Viserys turned to her with eyes already blazing; it took but a second to ignite his anger, even on a good day.

"You think I wanted this?" His voice trembled with raw emotion, gesturing with the hand that held the crown. "You think I'll enjoy selling the one thing, the only thing we have left of our heritage?"

His voice was raising in volume, and she knew it was foolish pursue this. And yet… her eyes moved to the crown, vision growing blurred as hot tears pricked her eyes. _No, don't cry. He'll be more angry to see you cry._

"Is there no other way? Why can't you just work at the smith again?"

He moved so fast; she'd never even had time to duck. Stunned, eyes watering, she lay sprawled at his feet, her cheek blazing the outline of his hand on her cheek. Hostility rolled off of him, towering above her, though that wasn't what had shocked her most.

No, what she remembered most was the first, and only, time she saw her brother cry.

Dany had waited for a kick, for a blow, for him to yell and rage and carry on; he didn't. Viserys simply stood there, tears spilling from his deep violet eyes, looking more shaken than she had ever seen. A moment passed, silence stretching taut between them as they stared, carrying with it so many unspoken words. And by the next moment, it was gone. The light faded from his eyes, leaving them dead, devoid of anything, least of all grief. His lips set in a hard line, he reached forward to offer his hand. Once she was back on his feet, he re-wrapped the crown in their dirtied rags, turned, and left.

Dany fell asleep alone that night, only the sounds of her own stomach grumbling and the mice in the walls to break the quiet. The next morning, they broke their fast on real auroch meat, fresh apples, and watered honey wines, and although it was delicious, neither of them said a word, and she felt laden with guilt when he stomach was full. Viserys left after without so much as a backward glance. _He hates me,_ she remembered thinking. _It's my fault. Our pretty crown is gone._

She often wondered what happened to it, as she aged. In the most painful scenarios she saw it being melted down in her mind's eye, becoming a simple ring, a necklace, the gems pried out to adorn other things. Being ripped apart for scraps until all was gone, all used. Forgotten.

Ripped apart and forgotten.

_Just like us._


End file.
